Skyrim: The Brothers from Bruma
by Duke Tryhard
Summary: On the run from the Thalmor, three Nordic brothers from Bruma attempt to seek safe refuge in Skyrim. Just when they thought they were safe, they walked right into an Imperial Ambush. With two captured and one missing, the situation is looking rather dire. Little do they know, they are all about to play pivotal roles in Skyrim's future.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**

 **Alright, let me start off by saying that while this is my first actual fanfic, I am no stranger to writing. That said, I am unused to writing in first person, and will welcome any feedback with open arms.**

 **This Skyrim Fanfic is the first entry in a series centered around three Nord brothers - Ivar, Edric, and Beric. I intend to create multiple series, each one focused around a major questline - the Main Quest, the Companions, the College, the Thieves Guild, the Dawnguard, and so on. This particular story is centered around the main questline, and will be told mostly from Ivar's perspective.  
**

 **If this particular chapter appears to be too long or overwrought, I apologize. I'm trying to achieve a balance between establishing the brothers' backstory, Ivar's own thoughts and feelings, and the events of the game itself. If I brought too much or too little attention to a certain area, I apologize. Please offer a suggestion on what you want to see more of, or what needs to be toned down.**

 **So without further ado, let's begin. This chapter is a prologue, and will deal with the arrival in Helgen. Though I have altered the events and dialogue somewhat in order to make the situation feel more natural, and the characters more reasonable. I'm not looking to dramatically alter the events of the story. If you find it to be too boring, don't worry; the next chapter will be more action-packed.**

* * *

 **Prologue**

"Ivar, wake up."

Edric's voice, combined with his insistent nudging, was enough to wake me from my slumber. Though once I woke, I could not understand how I had ever fallen asleep in the first place.

The first thing I realized was that we were being transported on some sort of cart - the uncomfortable wood dug into my back, and I was jolted up and down by the uneven cobbled road. The second thing I noted was the chill in the air. It was early Spring, and we Nords had a natural resistance to the cold, but it was still enough to add to my discomfort. The third thing I noticed was that my hands were bound.

Memories came rushing back. Fleeing from Bruma with my brothers. Evading the Thalmor agents. Stopping at a nearby village. A stranger leading us to a secret pass across the border. Fighting our way through the trap he had prepared for us. Entering Skyrim. Finding a road. Approaching another village. Imperial Legionnaires appearing on all sides.

Wait... that wasn't right. It was the Thalmor who enforced the Talos ban, and besides, why would such such a large force be hunting Talos worshipers so deep in enemy territory? The land was enveloped in civil war!

Yet, as I took further stock of my surroundings, I soon realized that I was not mistaken. It was an Imperial Soldier who drove the cart, and Imperial Soldiers who rode alongside us, ensuring that none of us would make a desperate attempt to leap out. I noted there were no shackles to secure our feet to the cart itself. These were not prisoner carts; they must have been commandeered from merchants or farmers.

I looked to my younger brother. Edric Night-Flame, he was called, and he was three years younger than me. He was gifted with magical talent, which we first discovered when we caught him practicing his spells late at night. As for me, I was Ivar Ironfist. Before Edric had his magic, he was frequently picked on as a child. In one case I defended him against three larger boys. My fists broke two noses and blackened three eyes.

Naturally, because we were brothers, we were similar in appearance - our hair was blond, our noses the same length, our eyes the same shade of green, but there were some noticeable differences. Where my hair was medium length, almost reaching my shoulders, Edric's was short. Where I had a short beard, Edric was cleanshaven. Where I was tall and well-muscled, Edric was - at least by Nordic standards - slim.

There were others in the cart as well, perhaps half a dozen. My older brother Beric was not among them, which was both relieving and concerning at the same time. Four of them were dressed in blue, though I noticed that they wore chainmail underneath. Soldiers, and not Legionnaires - Stormcloaks? My eyes widened at the realization.

The other two were different - one was dark haired and filthy, wear the rags of a common beggar or criminal. The other was clad in a thick, expensive-looking fur cloak, with swept-back blond hair. He was also the only man with a gag around his mouth. He looked regal, despite his predicament.

As for Edric and I, I wore a simple grey shirt with a dark green vest and brown leather pants. Edric wore a plain green tunic and green pants, though his red scarf appeared to have been taken from him. We both wore leather boots, though mine were somewhat more worn than Edric's.

"You were trying to cross the border, you say?" One of the blue-clad soldiers, a man with blond hair even longer than mine and a thick Nordic accent, spoke up.

Edric nodded. "Yes, we walked right into their ambush." He spoke in his Bruman accent - an odd combination of Nordic and Cyrodillic speech. His voice was somewhat soft, though it was still masculine enough. He turned to face me. "Ivar, this is Ralof. He's with the Stormcloaks."

That revelation only confirmed what I already expected. There were more alarming questions. "How did they know?" I ventured, my own voice deeper than Edric's but still similarly accented. "The man who told us about that pass is dead, and so were the bandits he had a deal with. How could the Imperials know we were border jumpers?"

"They don't." The blond-haired man responded bluntly. "They think you might be rebels. They think Ulfric dressed up some of his soldiers in common clothes and had them march ahead of the main force to scout for ambushes. And even if you aren't rebels, I suppose they're afraid that you might have doubled back to warn us. The Imperial scum don't care if the common folk are caught in their path."

"Did you tell them we weren't rebels?" Edric asked, his voice tinged was mild panic. I too was afraid. We had escaped the Thalmor only to blunder into the clutches of the Legion. Out of the cooking pot and into the fire. Though perhaps it was the other way around - the Thalmor were worse.

"I did. Do you think they believed me?" Ralof asked in a flat tone. I shook my head in resignation as I pondered the uncertain future. Perhaps the Imperials would release my brother and I when they were safely in their own territory, where there was no fear of detection. Or perhaps they would execute us.

"Skyrim was fine until you came along..." a new voice spoke up in an accusatory tone - it was the man in rags. "The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." He looked to me and my brother. "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." Another Stormcloaks retorted. Others glared at the thief. Ralof's expression was neutral.

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief asked, nodding his head towards the gagged man.

"Watch your tongue!" The blond-haired man suddenly snapped. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" He almost shouted, his voice half reverance and half anger.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you... oh gods, where are they taking us?" The thief's voice broke, reaching a new level of fear. Edric gasped, and my own expression turned grim, though deep down I too was surprised. Just our luck; not only were we captured and bound, but we had also been captured alongside the most wanted man in the Empire.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Ralof told the horse-thief.

As the thief continued to despair, I considered my options. I was no criminal. In fact, I was the opposite - I had been a city guard. My experience had more to do with capturing prisoners instead of helping them escape. Though the only restraints on us were the bindings on our wrists, I could see that the Imperials had taken every other precaution. There were at least eight outriders surrounding our cart alone, plus the driver, and I noticed at least two other carts on the road with us with additional outriders.

There was nothing stopping my brother from using his magic, but it alone might not be enough. It was said that Jarl Ulfric had the power of the Voice, but the gag around his mouth seemed to prevent him from doing so. Our hands were not bound behind our backs, so any one of us could try to pull the gag down, but it looked too tight to be pulled down quickly, and the Imperials had their eyes on us. There was no way out. All I could do was watch the pine trees pass by as the cart rolled onward.

"Hey, where are you three from?" Ralof asked, breaking the silence once more

"Why do you care?" Came the thief's immediate, somewhat suspicious thoughts response.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"We're from Bruma." Edric spoke up.

"Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead." The thief answered reluctantly, with a trace of sadness.

Ahead, the walls of a town came into view, and the caravan came to a stop before its gate. The man at the head of the convoy was an old man, clad in a bright red cloak, and wearing armor which marked him as a high-ranking officer, perhaps a Legate or a General. He rode his mount directly up to the gate.

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" A faint voice called out as the gate swung open.

"Good. Let's get this over with." Came the General's response, as the gate swung open, and the convoy continued into the village. As we passed through the gate, I noticed the General veer off to go speak to... oh no. I felt a rage began to build up in my chest.

"Look at him, General Tullius the military governor." Our blond companion spoke up once again, his voice filled with disgust. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves, I bet they had something to do with this." There were three of them - two wore the the armor of common elven soldiers, while the third was a woman who wore the robes of a justiciar. I couldn't help myself - I spat as we passed them, as did two of the Stormcloaks in the cart with me. The Thalmor didn't notice, but Edric shook his head. I then realized that was a mistake - openly disrespecting the Thalmor would not help our case.

I couldn't help but notice a tranquil fury in Ulfric's eyes as he glared at the female High Elf, but it seemed to be directed at her specifically instead of all three.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh... Divines, please help me." The thief began to pray. I could emphathize with his concern over the fact that we were all about to die, but nonetheless his pleading was beginning to grate on the nerves.

Edric was silent. His panic was no longer visible, and his expression was just as resigned as mine. Was he thinking of home we abandoned? Of our parents, who were dragged away? Of Beric, who was nowhere to be seen?

Ralof, too, remained calm. "This is Helgen... I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with Juniper berries mixed in? Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." There were traces of wistfulness and nostalgia in his voice. I recalled that Helgen was a town close to the border - we would have passed through it had we entered Skyrim the legal way. It also held a substantial Imperial garrison.

"Who are they daddy? Where are they going?" I heard a child's voice speak up.

"You need to go inside, little cub." An older, sterner voice responded, likely the father.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. Now."

The wagons came to a stop in the village center. I could see the headsman's block from here, situatied direclty in front of the tower. The horse thief, who had been sitting on the other side of the cart, could not. "Why are we stopping?" He asked.

"Why do you think? End of the line." Ralof said grimly, as the executioner stepped out of the tower with axe in hand.

"Get these prisoners out of the cart! Move it!" An authoritative female voice shouted.

"Let's go. Shouldn't keep the Gods waiting." Ralof spoke, looking at me.

"No, wait, we're not rebels!" The thief shouted in desperation as the rest of us rose to our feet.

"Face your death with some courage, thief." Ralof kicked the thief in the shin, and he too eventually rose to his feet.

"Tell them again, we weren't with you! This is a mistake." We began to step down from the cart, forming a line where an Imperial officer and her underling stood before us. Ralof was on my left, and Edric was on my right. I surveyed our surroundings once more - most of the horsemen were being led to the stables, but a few remained, and there were at least a dozen archers placed strategically around us. There was also a handful of infantryman, hands on their sheathed swords as they eyed us warily.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!"

"Empire loves their damned lists." Ralof spat. I noticed his eyes were focused on the soldier holding the list, who returned his gaze. Yet their stares were not defiant; they both seemed to carry a trace of recognition.

"Do you two know each other?" I whispered to Ralof.

"Hadvar. We grew up in the same village." Ralof whispered back.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Hadvar finally spoke up, and the Jarl went forward.

"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric." Ralof declared solemnly.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

Wordlessly, Ralof went forward.

Hadvar continued down the list, until eventually there were only three of us left. Me, Edric and the thief. The soldier carrying the list looked confused for a moment, before he called out the next name. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" Lokir shouted, but his pleas earned him no sympathy from the surrounding Imperials. Then, he did the unexpected: he ran.

He did not get far. "Archers!" The Imperial officer called out, before he had even taken ten steps. Within seconds, four of the archers had arrows notched and drawn. "Loose!" She shouted. One arrow missed the thief by an inch, embedding itself in the wood of a building. Another arrow struck the back of his knee. The final two embedded themselves in his back. He fell forward and slid, scraping his face, arms, and knees against the cobbles.

He would not get back up.

"Continue." The Captain spoke to her underling.

"Wait." Hadvar said, lowering the list as he turned back to my brother and I. "You two. Step forward."

Edric and I complied. "Who... are you? "He said after a long pause.

"Ivar and Edric, of Bruma." I answered.

"We aren't rebels, we were travellers who walked into your ambush. I swear it." Edric implored them.

"Captain, what should we do? They aren't on the list." Hadvar asked, turning to his superior.

"Forget the list. They go to the block." There was neither pity nor remorse in her voice.

"But Cap-" Hadvar began.

"Enough! Send them to the block or I'll have you flogged!" The Captain barked.

Hadvar was conflicted, but only took a few seconds for him to answer. "By your orders, Captain." Then he turned to us with sympathy. "I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your ancestral homeland."

That was not a comfort.

We walked forward, to where the rest of the prisoners had assembled. There were twenty of us overall. A large crowd had gathered. General Tullius's horse came trotting around the corner, and a few light cheers rang out. He ignored them and dismounted, walking directly towards us with his eyes set directly on Ulfric.

He came to a stop just a few paces before the rebelious Jarl. "Ulfric Stormcloak." He began. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a sacred power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne." Many in the crowd nodded, and one shouted 'here here!' General Tullius continued. "You started this war, and plunged Skyrim into chaos. Now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

There were more light cheers, which were cut off by a loud noise in the distance - the roar of some sort of animal. Perhaps a bear? But why was a bear so close to civilization? And why so loud?

"What was that?" Hadvar asked.

Tullius shook his head. "It's nothing. Carry on." He set a sideways glance towards me and Edric, with a quizzical look in his eye, no doubt due to how out-of-place we were, but then he turned away and took his place next to the headsman.

"Yes, General Tullius!" The all-too eager Imperial Captain shouted. She turned to the Priest, who wore the orange robes of the Divines. "Give them their last rites."

The Priest raised her arms and began to preach. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight-"

"For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with!" One of the Stormcloaks shouded as he stepped forward, clearly not approving of Talos's exclusion from his last rites. A few of the Imperials drew their blades, but Tullius called them off with a single hand gesture.

"As you wish." The Priest remarked, as she walked away.

A shame. With or without Talos, I would have very much preferred some sort of last rite, if only to delay the inevitable.

"Come on! I haven't got all morning!" The Stormcloak taunted defiantly as he knelt. The headsman raised his axe. "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials, can you say the same!?"

The axe came down with a sickening crack. Edric looked away. I had seen my fair share of executions, so I could stomach it. Cries of "Justice!" and "Death to the Stormcloaks!" could be heard from the observers.

"As fearless in death, as he was in life." I heard Ralof's sad voice over the cheering.

"Next, the Nord in green!"

It took me a moment to realize she was referring to Edric.

The roar was heard once more, this time much louder and presumably much closer. That was no bear. Beric would probably know, had he been here, but he was not. He had been killed in the ambush, or had he escaped?

"There it is again." Hadvar noted. "Did you hear that?"

"I said... Next. Prisoner." The Imperial Captain stated impatiently, through clenched teeth.

Edric appeared uncertain, perhaps even afraid, before finally he began to walk forward. I was not going to let this happen. "This is horkershit!" I shouted angrily, loud enough for all to hear. Edric stopped in his tracks as I continued yelling. "We aren't even on the list! Do we look like Stormcloaks to you?"

General Tullius studied us carefully, but it did not seem as if he would intervene. Meanwhile, the Captain was furious. "ARCHERS!" She shouted out once again.

"Wait!" Hadvar cut in, stepping forward. All eyes were on him, and once again he appeared uncertain, but in the end he found his courage "He's right. They aren't on the list."

"Is this true, Captain?" Tullius asked.

"I..." now it was the Captain's turn to be nervous. "I thought..."

"Set them aside and place them under guard!" He snapped. "We will sort this out once the other prisoners are..."

He was cut off by another roar, this one louder and closer then ever before. And then, a black shape appeared in the sky, flying out from behind a nearby mountain. Tullius turned his head. "What in Oblivion is that!?" He shouted. Within seconds it descended upon the town, landing on the tower so heavily that I was surprised the building did not collapse under the force. It was a mass of spikes, wings, and scales.

It was one of the Stormcloaks who answered Tullius's question.

"Dragon!"


	2. Chapter One: Unbound

**Author's Note**

 **This chapter is more action heavy than the previous one. It still adheres closely to in-game events, but once they make it out of the tutorial area and are no longer in danger I can try to be a bit more creative and divergent, and further flesh out Ivar and Edric's characters.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter One: Unbound**

"Dragon!"

Just like that, the world went mad.

The Dragon let out another roar, one that almost sounded like speech. The sky, once clear and bright, turned grim and cloudy, and fire rained down upon us. But the dragon did not relent.

" **FUS RO DAH!** " It shouted, and a wave of blue energy struck the mass of Stormcloaks, knocking them this way and that. Though Edric and I had not been struck directly, we were still close enough for the shockwave to overbalance us and send us to the ground.

"Guards, get the townspeople to safety!" I heard General Tullius shout, as swords were drawn and arrows were notched, the prisoners temporarily forgotten. The body of the headsman lay nearby, and I saw Ralof run forward to cut his bindings on the discarded axe. I pushed myself to my feet, and searched frantically for Edric.

He was lying only a few feet away. Ralof and I helped him to his feet, and he nodded his thanks. "Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" Ralof shouted. "This way!" He gestured to a nearby tower with an open door, which his surviving comrades were filing into. We quickly dashed for it, the Imperial Archers too focused on the dragon to bother attacking us.

" **YOL TOOR SHUL!** " I heard behind me, and the world suddenly became somewhat brighter as men screamed in agony. I noticed a Stormcloak lying on the ground, his neck and arm twisted at an impossible angle. In the corner of my vision, I saw a fireball rain down directly on an Imperial Archer, whose light armor quickly caught fire.

I continued onward.

I shoved Edric through the door before I entered, and Ralof came in behind me. Two more entered, dragging a man whose foot was twisted just a few inches too far to the left. There were ten of us in the ground floor of the tower interior, and only nine could stand.

Somehow, one of the Stormcloaks had obtained a dagger, and he wasted no time cutting loose those who had not done so already.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked.

"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric's voice was deep, calm, and rich.

The moment Edric's bindings were cut, he knelt down next to the wounded man and with one hand twisted the ankle back into place. The man screamed, but then Edric reached out with his other hand and cast a healing spell. The injured Stormcloak's expression turned to relief.

My brother then rose to his feet. "He will walk, but he may limp for a time." He stated in a completely business-like fashion, though I noticed his body was still shaking from fear and adrenaline. Some of the Stormcloaks eyed him warily. We Nords were, after all, known for our wariness towards magic.

The dragon roared again.

"We need to move! Now!" Ulfric shouted.

Ralof turned to regard me and Edric. "You two, up the tower with me! We need to see what's going on!"

We wasted no time in following him, scrambling up the stairs as if our life depended on it. We reached the second floor to find that it had partially collapsed, with rubble covering the next set of stairs. One of the Stormcloaks had already made it up there, and he was frantically trying to clear the way. "We just need to clear some of these rocks!" He shouted to us.

The wall burst open, and the Stormcloak was knocked back, his legs pinned under a particularly large chunk of broken stone. The dragon's head poked through.

"Back!" Ralof yelled, pulling us back down the stairs.

" **YOL... TOOR SHUL!** "

The second floor of the tower was filled with fire. Even though we were out of danger I could still feel the heat.

Once the dragon had moved on, we climbed back up. The Stormcloak was nothing more than a blackened husk, partially buried by rubble. We looked away. Ralof approached the hole the dragon had left, and peered downward.

"You see the inn on the other side?" He asked, pointed down to a large building that was missing half its roof. "Jump through the roof and keep going!"

Edric and I exchanged glances, unsure if he was joking or not. But Ralof was serious. "Go! This tower is a death trap! We'll follow when we can!"

So, we jumped. I managed to grab onto the roof beam on the way down, which helped break my fall. Edric was not so lucky. I heard a snap and an anguished cry of pain. I looked over to see Edric clutching his now-wounded leg. Was it broken?

Thankfully, Edric was able to regain his composure and begin healing himself almost immediately. A golden light washed over his injury. He was much better at healing himself than he was at healing others, and soon he was as good as new.

"Come on!" I shouted, once he had recovered. There was another hole in the floor, but thankfully this drop was much shorter than the last, and we could jump down without incident. This time I managed to land in a surprisingly agile roll that would have made Beric proud had he been here. Meanwhile, Edric had landed on a table which helped break his fall somewhat, though it did collapse beneath him. Nonetheless, I helped him to his feet, and we stumbled out of the building and into the light, my knees aching ever so slightly.

The town was in chaos. Half the buildings were on fire, and the other half had all sustained some other form of damage. The screams of the scared and dying could be heard all around. Ahead, Hadvar and an old man were crouched beside a nearby building. In the middle of the street, another man lay wounded, a boy crouched over him.

"Haming, you need to get over here, now!" Hadvar shouted. At first the boy didn't respond, but then the dragon soared overhead, and finally Haming got up and ran to Hadvar.

"That a boy, you're doing great." Hadvar encouraged with barely disguised urgency.

Just then the dragon landed in the middle of the street. "Toralf!" Hadvar shouted at the man who still lay prone, but it was no use. The dragon reared its head back for another attack. "Gods, everyone get back!" Hadvar yelled, and we all hugged the building for cover as another gust of flame erupted from the dragon's maw. The child screamed.

When the dragon was finished, it got up and flew away, not even bothering to flush us out.

Hadvar turned to look at us. "Still alive, prisoners? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." He turned to the old man. "Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar." Gunnar said.

We followed Hadvar, passing the charred corpse of Haming's father. We ran down a side road, the town's inner wall to our left and the buildings to our right. "Stay close to wall" Hadvar ordered us.

Just then, the dragon landed on the wall above us. We stopped in our tracks, but thankfully it did not see us. We looked to our right, and saw an archer standing defiantly. He loosed an arrow at the beast, but it merely bounded off the creature's scale, and it responded with another blast of fire before once again flying away.

"Quickly! Follow me!" Hadvar shouted,

We did not object. We followed Hadvar past the body of the archer, and through a ruined house, before finally we stepped out into another opening. There General Tullius stood, surrounded by his own archers and mages, who were attempting to shoot the dragon out of the sky.

General Tullius turned to face us. He took one look at us, and seemed to immediately realize that our lack of ranged weapons meant we were of little use. "Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier! We're leaving!"

Hadvar wasted no time in obeying the orders, and we were right behind him. As we ran, I watched the dragon pluck a man from the walls, carry him into the air, and then drop him. I did not see him land, but I can't imagine it was pretty. We continued making our way toward the Keep.

The courtyard of Helgen's Keep had two entrances. Hadvar, Edric, and I ran through one, while a familiar face caming running through the other, axe in hand. He and Hadvar stopped only a few paces from each other, weapons drawn.

"Ralof, you damned traitor, out of my way!" Hadvar snapped, his voice venomous.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us!" Ralof yelled back.

"Fine, I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar spat, and then the two ran past each other. The Keep also, as it happened, had two entrances, and each man stopped at one. It seemed as if the gods had given us a choice.

I immediately ran towards Ralof. For all of Hadvar's personal virtues, I was not certain what he or his comrades would do to us if we made it out of Helgen alive. Edric was of a similar mind, though he seemed a bit more conflicted in his decision.

Together, the three of us pushed open the large doors, as the town burned behind us.

* * *

We stepped into a large, circular chamber. The first thing I noticed was a thin trail of blood leading the corpse of a Stormcloak on the other side of the room. There was an arrow in his back - it seemed as though someone had shot him while he was entering the keep, and he managed to stumble to the other side of the room before dying.

We approached his body. Ralof knelt, looked into the fallen rebel's cold, lifeless eyes, and then closed them. "We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother."

Then, Ralof turned to face us. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it." He breathed. I realized I was quite tired as well, now that I was no longer fleeing for my life. "That thing was a dragon, no doubt. Just like the children stories and the legends. The harbingers of the end times."

He picked up the weapon of his fallen comrade - a one-handed iron war axe, and held it out towards us. "We need to keep moving. Which one of you is better with an axe?"

Wordlessly, I reached out and took it from them. I turned away from them as a safety precaution and gave it a few test swings.

"Edric, do you know any magic suited for combat?" Ralof asked. "We need every advantage we can get."

"I can handle myself." Edric nodded, which was enough to satisfy him.

"Come on! Keep moving!" A faint, familiar-sounding voice called out. The Imperials.

"Take cover!" I whispered. It came from a nearby hallway, the doorway blocked by a wooden portcullius. Edric and I took positions on one side, with Ralof on the other.

"Get this gate open!" The voice ordered - there was no doubt about it. That was the Captain who sentenced me to die. My grip on the axe tightened.

Some sort of lever or chain was pulled, and the portcullus was raised. We heard footsteps as the Imperials were about to cross through.

Suddenly, Edric sprang from his hiding place and placed himself directly in their path. He raised his hands and two cones of fire shot forth. The two Imperials at the front were engulfed in flames, as was the man behind him. An arrow soared past Edric's head, grazing his ear. He winced and stepped out of the way, retreating back to cover. "Seven left." He told us.

Ralof and I exchanged a nod, and then we rushed forward, leaping over the burning bodies of the screaming Legionnaires. We were each able to bury our weapon into a soldier, having caught them by surprise. My eyes widened slightly as I realized it was Hadvar who I had struck, my axe embedded in his shoulder, but there was no time for remorse. We pulled our weapons out, and our foes slumped to the ground, but the remaining five had readied themselves, and rushed forward.

Thankfully, in this corridor, numbers meant little. The first man's attack was easily predictable - I hooked his blade with my axe and disarmed him, before swinging the blade of my weapon across his belly. I noted that Hadvar still lived, and had begun to crawl away with one hand, but there was no time to finish him now that the Captain herself stood in my path.

She looked at me with an expression fury and anger. I feinted left and tried to strike at her right, but she saw it coming and parried it, before following up with her own strike which I knocked aside with my axe. I swung once more, my axe striking her in her armored chest, which only served to knock the wind out of her and send her staggering back. Before I could launch a follow-up, she recovered with surprising speed and thrust her sword at me. I narrowly sidestepped it and then embedded my axe into her windpipe. She looked at me with wide eyes and slumped to her knees as I stared down at her, grim satisfaction in my eyes. Ralof dispatched his own opponent to my left.

Only two remained uninjured. One of them helped the wounded Hadvar to his feet, and they retreated down the corridor, Hadvar glancing back at me as he fled. The other had an arrow notched and drawn on us, but he did not loose - he knew we would rush him if he did. "Stay back!" He shouted as he slowly backed away. None of us had shields, and it would be impossible to reach him before he shot one of us, so we had no choice to comply. We withdrew to the main chamber and out of his line of sight. Eventually the archer disappeared around the corner.

Edric looked down at the massacre with a sense of regret, then disgust, and suddenly he bent over and vomited. As for me, it was not my first time killing someone, but aside from the Captain I had no ill will towards these soldiers. Hadvar had even stood up for me not even ten minutes ago, yet I had attacked him all the same. The loss of life was regrettable to me as well, but right now we could not dwell on it.

"There is only three of them, and one is injured." I heard Ralof say. "We ought to finish them them off, else they might take us in the rear."

Edric shook his head, wiping vomit from his mouth as he regained his composure. "That's the way Hadvar came in. We need to head deeper in the keep if we want to remain safe from that dragon. Besides, they are probably preparing an ambush of their own, and they also have a wounded comrade to care for. Now, there's still another door we haven't tried."

"He's right." I said, somewhat impressed by Edric's tactical analysis. He had always been bright, but I never knew his interests had extended beyond magic or lore.

Ralof had no choice but to yield to the majority. I walked over to the other locked door and attempted to open it, but to no avail. "It's locked!" I called back.

"Check the bodies." Ralof suggested. Within a minute of searching, we found a key ring secured to the Imperial Captain's belt. I also picked up an Imperial Sword as a back-up weapon. "Let's go." Ralof urged as we opened the door.

* * *

We advanced through the Keep at a quick pace, encountering only scattered pockets of resistance which we quickly dispatched. None of us wasted more time than necessary; for all we knew, more Imperial soldiers could have entered the Keep behind us. We stopped only once to gather a few potions from a supply room.

As we descended yet another set of stairs, we heard the sounds of fighting ahead. We hurried downward, and stepped into a dimly lit torture room.

The fight was not going well. In the middle of the room, a hooded old man in an Imperial uniform - presumably the Torturer - was casting a Sparks spell on a Stormcloak soldier, who shook violently on the ground in agony. Another Stormcloak had been backed into a corner, as a thickly-built Imperial repeatedly slammed his mace against her increasingly damaged shield, and she had no weapon.

We wasted no time. Ralof threw his axe, which struck the Torturer square in the chest. Edric approached the Assistant from behind and sprayed fire across his back, allowing the cornered Stormcloak to rush forward and knock him over with her shield. I then stepped forward and finished him off with an axe to the chest.

Ralof knelt to examine the now unmoving body of the Sparked Stormcloak, and then shook his head. "Was Jarl Ulfric with you?" He asked the only survivor.

She shook her head. "No. I haven't seen him since the dragon showed up."

"Come with us." Ralof told her. "We need to get out of here."

"Wait." Edric spoke up. With an unusually excited expression he gestured to a nearby cage, where a recently deceased man lay, clad in mage robes and clutching a book close to his chest. "Give me the keys."

I tossed them to him, and he was barely able to catch them. The female Stormcloak sighed impatiently as Edric then proceeded to try key after key, until finally the cell door swung open. Then, before our very eyes, he began to strip.

"Edric!" I snapped. "We don't have time for this!"

"It will be worth it! Trust me!" He called back as he began to pull the robes off the dead man. I rolled my eyes, but then a shield hanging on a nearby weapon rack caught my gaze.

A minute later, Edric stood before us clad in the attire of a mage. I myself had taken the shield and now wielded it in my left hand. He shoved the book into a backpack on the table, which he then proceeded to sling over his shoulder. "Most mage robes are enchanted." He explained to us, as we proceeded onward. "This will help me with my sp-"

"Our orders are to wait until General Tullius arrives." The voice was faint and distant, but still audible. Edric immediately shut up and we came to a halt.

"I'm not waiting to be killed by a dragon! We need to fall back!" Another voice responded.

"Imperials ahead." Ralof whispered.

I peered around a corner, and saw that the hallway led into a wide open chamber, with a walkway carved out along the left side and an extremely shallow underground river to the right. There were perhaps six Imperials overall. "Let's make a plan." I suggested.

* * *

"Freedom or Sovngarde!" The Stormcloak who had yet to offer her name shouted out, as she and Ralof charged forward. They sprinted left along the walkway, and the Imperials immediately turned at the sound and drew their weapons. Four rushed to engage them in a melee, and they met at the bridge, while the two others prepared their bows.

"Freedom or Sovngarde!" Edric and I echoed, as we then chose to emerge. The archers turned and loosed their arrows at us. I raised my shield and Edric summoned a ward, allowing us to block both of them. Instead of going left, we went right, stepping down from the walkway and rushing across the river, careful not to slip on the rocks. The archers loosed two more arrows at us, and I blocked one while the second one missed Edric by inches.

Then we had climbed back on the walkway at the other side of the room. I made a left towards the bridge, where our allies fought a vicious melee, while Edric made a right towards the exposed archers.

I heard them screaming as Edric unleashed his fire, but I did not turn to see, and instead pursued my own objective. Ralof alone was now holding off three Imperials, his comrade now lying dead on the floor, but at least she had taken one of her foes out with her. One of the Imperials turned to face me, but I bashed him in the face with my shield and drove my axe into his stomach. I then pulled it out and struck a second Imperial in the back. Ralof seized the remaining Imperial by the collar and threw him from the narrow bridge, before leaping down and finishing him off with a downward swing.

And that was it. Six enemies dead at the cost of one of our own. Ralof looked saddened at the loss, but he had lost many other companions today. I did not know her, and though the fact that my plan led to her death weighed on my conscience, there was nothing I could do to change that.

So we continued moving, entering another tunnel with a wooden bridge. The other end led to a proper cave, with not a single human-built hallway in sight. No sooner had we crossed than did the bridge collapse behind us. Just our luck.

"No going back now." I muttered. At least nobody could follow us. We could only hope and pray that this cave led to an exit.

* * *

Our hopes proved to be correct. It took time, but after fighting a short yet sharp clash against some giant spiders, and narrowly evading a bear, we finally found an exit and stepped out into the light.


	3. Chapter Two: Riverwood

**Author's Note**

 **After the 'super ultra seriousness' of the last two entries, I found the opportunity to insert a bit of light-hearted comedy now that the characters are no longer under the threat of impending death.**

 **Also, I realize I never gave the ages of my characters. Edric is twenty, Ivar is twenty-three, and Beric is twenty-five. Apologies for not specifying that within the story itself.**

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Riverwood**

We stepped out into the light, and it was a relief to once more be outside. To feel the cool breeze against my face, and to no longer be forced to breathe the stale underground air of the cave.

That feeling was cut short by the foreboding flap of giant leathery wings. "Wait!" Ralof hissed, and a large shadow passed by, followed by another roar. I looked up to see the dragon flying away, and our relief at finally escaping was shattered as we recalled the horror we had just escaped from.

* * *

After the dragon had gone, Ralof explained that his sister owned a mill in Riverwood, and suggested it would be a good place to lie low.

Although we had narrowly evaded death, the mood on the walk to Riverwood was one of melancholy rather than triumph. Edric brooded over the lives he had taken, while Ralof brooded over the destruction of a town he was once familiar with, as well as the loss of his comrades. We had just sighted the first dragon in centuries, and only the Divines knew what that meant. I myself thought of Beric, and my new status as a possible fugitive - if I was ever recognized for the role I played at Helgen, the Empire would stop at nothing to hunt me down.

We walked in silence, on stiff legs and empty stomachs. Ralof stopped only to point out landmarks or to comment on our good fortune. The wall of Riverwood had just come into view when he spoke up again. "You know, you should go to Windhelm to join the fight to free Skyrim. You've seen the true face of the Empire today."

I looked at him with a quizzical expression.

"I'm serious." Ralof said. "All true Sons of Skyrim should, and you have your own score to settle with the Empire anyways."

"I wasn't born in Skyrim." I reminded him. "Besides, the woman who ordered my execution, and most of the men who imprisoned me, are dead. The score has been settled." Was he honestly trying to convince me to fight for a country I had only recently arrived in for the first time? Though Bruma maintained a strong Nordic culture, I wasn't foolish enough to believe that living there was the same as living in Skyrim. As sympathetic as I was to the Stormcloaks, and as resentful as I was to the Empire, that was not reason enough to join a foreign rebellion. "And how do you even know if Ulfric is still alive?"

"It will take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak." Ralof retorted, as if that was obvious. There was an awkward silence as we neared the village. Then, finally, he said: "It is a big decision. Take your time." He looked ahead at Riverwood's walls, coming ever closer. "I don't see any Imperial Soldiers. I think we made it here first."

We entered the village. Fortunately, there were few people in the streets, and those who were out were busy with work - nobody appeared to notice us. A good thing, because neither Ralof's Stormcloak Uniform nor my bloodstained appearance would do us any good. Though some old woman was shouting about how she had seen a dragon, and that a sign to quickly hurry along. We took a left, and crossed the bridge over to the mill itself.

"Gerdur!" Ralof called out as his sister came into view - a blonde woman in her early thirties.

"Brother?" Gerdur turned, surprised. "Mara's mercy, it's good to see you." The two siblings stepped forward and embraced. "But is it safe for you to be here? We heard that Ulfric had been captured." She looked towards Edric and I. "And who are they?"

"I'll explain everything." Ralof assurred her. "But we need a safe place to talk."

Gerdur and her husband Hod had found a relatively secluded location where we could speak, in the far northwestern corner of the village. There, we gave a full account of the events at Helgen, from how we were captured, to the appearance of the dragon, to our eventual escape. Both Gerdur and Hod had been in a state of disbelief, but then Gerdur did admit that she had seen it, and slowly came to accept it.

They told us we could stay as long as we needed, but Gerdur did have a favor to ask.

"The Jarl needs to know if there is a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless." She said, looking directly at me. I knew where this was going, and I didn't like it. "We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf, to send whatever aid he can. If you do that for me, I will be in your debt."

"Is that a good idea?" I questioned. "The Empire tried to execute me only a few hours ago. And I killed a lot of their soldiers on my way out." Edric gulped uneasily, and now that I had time to dwell on it, our actions hung heavily in my own heart as well.

"Jarl Balgruuf has yet to choose a side in the war." She explained. "Besides, if any Imperials survived Helgen, it is unlikely that will recognize you, and even unlikelier that they will end up in Whiterun."

Normally, I would have agreed. But unfortunately, there was still the matter of Beric - we had no idea where he was, or if he was even still alive. I had asked Edric on the walk to Riverwood, but he did not remember what became of him either.

I was about to say as much, but then Edric cut in. "We will do it." He said. I glared at him, but he continued on regardless. "There is one matter, though. Our brother Beric has gone missing. We don't know what happened to him after the ambush. If he escaped, he is a good tracker, and will surely follow our trail to Helgen. And since this is the nearest village, he will likely come here afterward. If you see him, tell him we were here, and will return soon. He has long dark hair, light skin, and carries a bow."

Gerdur nodded. "If he stops by, I will let him know."

I nodded reluctantly. I would have preferred to search for Beric immediately, but letting him come to us seemed to be the wiser choice. "We will set out tomorrow morning, then."

"I'll let them into the house and show them where everything is." Hod volunteered.

"Hmph. Help them drink up our mead, you mean." Gerdur quipped. "Give Ralof and Ivar some new clothes too. The way they are dressed will attract suspicion."

"Thank you for everything." Ralof said as Hod let us away. Edric voiced his own thanks, as did I.

"So, how big was this dragon?" Hod asked as we walked. "As big as a house?"

"As big as the Inn." I told him, as images of fire and ruin flashed before my eyes. I shook them off. Food was the priority now.

* * *

That evening, Hod made a potato and beef stew with bread on the side, with a few cups of ale for good measure. With our lack of a strong meal, he had been quite generous in preparing it. It was not enough to satisfy me, so clad in my new outfit, I resolved to venture off to the Inn, while my brother stayed behind to continue study the spell tome he had picked up in Helgen. Ever since Hod let us into the house, the only time he had put it down was when he needed to eat.

The Sleeping Giant Inn, it was called. I set foot inside, and was greeted to the sound of a bard playing Ragnar the Red. It was a song that was occasionally sung in Bruma.

I was about to order something between the mid to high price range, but then I remembered we were rather low on funds - we had only what we managed to pocket on our way out of Helgen. So instead I settled for half a loaf of bread and a cheap ale, which was better than nothing. It might not be the most sensible use of my funds, but I was starving.

The bard had just finished playing another song titled The Dragonborn Comes by the time I had finished eating. He then announced that he was going on break, and sat down at a table.

Out of curiousity, which was possibly brought on by a mild case of drunkenness (Beric always said I was terrible when it came to hold my ale), I lifted my flagon of ale and walked over to join him. "Where did you learn to play like that?" I asked him.

"At the Bard's College in Solitude." He answered. Solitude was, of course, Skyrim's capital city.

"I see. And what can you tell me about Riverwood?" I noticed the Innkeeper, a middle-aged blonde women, squinting at me in barely-disguised suspicion. I squinted back.

"It's a nice enough village. I work at the mill, but I come here in the evenings to perform. The people are... nice enough?"

"You have a problem with someone?" I asked.

He nodded bitterly, and his voice quieted down to a whisper. "Faendal. I'm trying to woo Camilla Valerius, yet that Elf keeps trying to wedge himself between us to take her for himself." The fact that he was confessing this to a complete stranger was odd - perhaps he already had a few cups himself? I wondered why he was whispering, but then I realized the Inn had filled up quite substantially in the past few minutes, so it was quite possible that one or both of the people he was speaking about were here now.

"And what do you intend to do about this Faendal?" I asked, though I had already lost interest.

"Well... I..." He appeared to be considering his next words carefully. "I've had an idea."

"Oh?"

"I've written this letter..." He pulled a folded piece of parchment out of his pocket. "I've written a particularly venomous letter, and signed it with Faendal's name. I just need someone to give it to her..." He looked to me. "I'll pay you."

That was a stupid idea. Not only because it wouldn't work, but also because it was a tremendous waste of good parchment and ink. Those things were expensive - they didn't just grow on trees. I should have justed refused. But against my better judgement, I accepted it anyways. "Where can I find Camilla?"

"She's here right now, the beautiful maiden with the black hair. But you should wait until tomorrow, when she is at the Riverwood Trader... wait, what are you doing?"

As soon as he gave her physical description, I stood, walked across the room to where Camilla was sitting, and sat down next to her. She looked at me in astonishment, but then I set the letter down in front of her. "Sven wrote this, and he wanted me to tell you it was from Faendal."

She opened her mouth, as if to ask a question, but then closed it and began to read. After a few moments, her expression turned to anger. "What? That... that jealous idiot. Did he honestly think I would fall for this?"

"He was going to pay me for it too." I pointed out. And her anger only worsened.

Sven came running over. "Wait, Camilla, I can exp-" But then she stood, grabbed her ale and splashed it in his face. While he was still thinking of a way to salvage the situation, Camilla stormed out of the tavern.

All eyes were on us, but Sven didn't seem to notice. He looked at me with a betrayed expression, but then betrayal turned to fury. Even in my inebriated state, I could tell what was coming, and I ducked under his punch. I then lashed out with my own fist, delivering a swift upper-cut to his jaw. He hit the floor like a sack of dirt. I hadn't earned the name Ironfist for nothing.

Then the disreputable little lute strummer kicked me in the shin. I dropped my flagon, spilling ale over the floor, and stumbled backwards onto the table behind me.

At this point, one of the locals, who was also quite drunk, mistook this for the beginning of a mass tavern brawl. Or perhaps he was itching to see it escalate to that point. He punched the nearest patron - a black-haired man whose resemblance to Camilla was uncanny - in the face.

Soon enough, the Sleeping Giant Inn had erupted into a true brawl. The barkeep Orgnar waded into the conflict in an attempt to restore order, but soon became indistinguishable from one of the participants. Delphine stood in the corner and gently pressed her palm against her face.

Despite my proficiency in fist fights, I did not actively wish to seek them out, so instead of joining in I limped out of the building as quickly as possible and found my way back to Gerdur's home.

Unfortunately, Gerdur didn't have any spare beds. The best she had managed was to lay down some fur and straw on the floor to act as makeshift beds. Still, it was better than nothing - we slept in worse on the road. I quickly found the one that was still unoccupied, and thanks to my exhaustion I was able to find sleep despite Edric's disturbingly loud snoring.

* * *

In the morning, we left Hod and Gerdur's home, ready to depart for Whiterun. My old outfit had been washed and dried by now, so I had wasted no time in putting it back on. They had also given us some coins and provisions for the journey, for which we were grateful. They, on the other hand, appeared to be thankful for our departure, an odd contrast to their previously hospitable attitude. Perhaps it was a relief not to have the extra mouths to feed. Perhaps they had heard of last night's brawl. Perhaps they suffered just as much from Edric's snoring as I once did. Who knew? At least Ralof's farewell was heartfelt. "Whether you join the rebellion or not, know that you two always have a friend in me." He said as we departed.

He was not the only friend I made. Before we left town, I heard an unfamiliar voice call out. "Hold on there!"

I turned to face this newcomer, a white-haired Wood Elf whom I had never seen before, but was quickly approaching me and smiling as if I was an old friend. "Faendal?" I ventured.

He nodded. "I don't know who you are, but I heard about what you did last night. Good work." Then he pressed about twenty or so Septims into my hand and walked away. That was certainly a nice change of fortune.

"Ivar?" Edric ventured after a few moments.

"What?" I asked, not quite in the mood to share the events of the previous night.

"I don't know what that was about, but this is something I would expect to see with Beric. Not with you." He smiled, in a rare display of humour.

"Shut up." I smiled back, before realizing this was the first time I had smiled in an entire week. I decided to change the subject to something that would interest him."What are you learning from that spell tome?"

Edric said nothing. Instead, he merely raised a hand, and bolts of energy danced between his finger tips.


	4. Chapter Three: Whiterun

**Chapter Three: Whiterun**

"If we make good time, we should be able to get to Whiterun before dusk." I said as we crossed the bridge leading out of Riverwood.

Edric nodded. "This is strange, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" I questioned.

"Travelling. How often did we travel back when we lived in Bruma?" Edric asked. "Beric did it a few times, but the two of us? Never. But within a week, look how far we've gone."

"Weren't you going to travel to the College of Winterhold one day?" I questioned. "That's much further north."

"I was going to travel there next year." Edric said.

"You said that last year." We took a right-hand turn after crossing the bridge - the left would lead up to Bleak Falls Barrow, which Ralof had warned us about.

"Then I changed my mind." Edric stated, somewhat defensively.

There were very few institutions in the Empire where one could practice magic, and none of them were anywhere near Bruma. Fortunately, a local mage had been willing to take Edric on as an apprentice. He had made great progress, but his master made it clear that he would be better off at a professional institution.

"Speaking of teaching... you picked up that lightning spell rather quickly on your own." I pointed out. It had taken him a few years to learn what he already knows now - a flame spell, a fireball spell, a frost spell, a basic ward spell, and some healing capabilities.

Edric shrugged. "The first three years were mostly theory. You know I was casting spells before I had a teacher, but I was told that was dangerous if I didn't fully comprehend how I was able to do it. He was a cautious man. The other two years were spent actually learning spells. And to tell you the truth, my instructor wasn't actually that skilled. Another year or two and I might have even surpassed him. He said as much to me."

"And that was why you waited? You wanted to prove yourself better than him before you left?"

"Perhaps. Or maybe I didn't want to leave home. Or maybe I just thought it would be smart if I knew as much that would help me defend myself as possible. Skyrim is more dangerous than Cyrodill, from what I heard."

I nodded. From bandits to trolls, countless tales of the perils of Skyrim's roads had made their way south. I wondered if we were truly equipped to deal with them. Edric had his magic, and I had my axe and shield, but neither of us actually wore armour, which almost made me feal naked. A concealed arrow barrage could end us both before we even realized what was happening.

"Anyways," Edric continued, "I will need some more time to study the tome if I want to effectively use the spell in combat."

"Now that we're in Skyrim, are you going to make your way to the College of Winterhold at some point?" I asked him.

"I might. But we have a couple things to take care of before I can even consider that." Edric pointed out.

* * *

Our walk was marked only by one incident. An hour or so after our departure from Riverwood, two men emerged from bushes, and another from a rock. One of them was clad in furs, and had a bow trained on us. Another one was clad in leather, and wielded a sword. The third was wearing hide, and held a mace.

"Hand over your gold and your weapons, and we might just let you go." The leader challenged.

I nodded, and reached down to unbelt my axe... then I pulled it out and threw it directly into the chest of the mace-wielder! I raised my shield just in time to block the archer's arrow. As Edric unleashed more of his fire upon the archer, I drew my swordand charged the remaining bandit. His sword was longer than mine, but I had a shield, which gave me an advantage. I blocked his strike with my shield, and then sliced my blade across his throat. I felt no remorse when striking down such foes; these men were bound by no law or duty, only coin and slaughter. It was satisfying to put an end to them.

"You were the one who mentioned danger." I smirked at Edric, after the fight was concluded. Fate worked in interesting ways.

And that was that. We searched the guards for loot, and were about to carry on, but then I realized the one with the leather armour was of a similar size to me. So, somewhat reluctantly, I took his armour, did what I could to wash out the bloodstains in the nearby river, and then I put it on. It didn't fit perfectly, a bit too large in some areas and a bit too small in others, but I could have it modified later.

I also took his steel sword, and left my imperial blade behind - such a weapon would attract unwanted suspicion.

We continued onward, following the river north, on a road that winded left and right. Some time after noon, Whiterun finally came into view. At this distance, the city seemed large and impressive. It was built atop a hill, and the keep of Dragonsreach stood proud and tall for all to see. I recalled the tales of Olaf One-Eye which I had heard as a child.

However, there was still a long way to go. Thankfully, from here the road went downhill. We stopped only to eat some of our rations, and then we carried on.

* * *

An hour later, Edric spoke up once again. "We need to talk about what happened in Helgen."

"About the dragon?" I asked.

"No, about those soldiers we killed to fight our way out."

"What about them?" I knew where this was going.

Edric took a deep breath. "Our Aunt died with the Eighth Legion during the Fall of the Imperial City. Our Grandfather fell during the Battle of the Red Ring. Doesn't it seem... wrong that we should kill soldiers of the Empire they died for?"

The Great War had ended three years before my birth, and Bruma had been mostly untouched by the fighting. We had never experienced its true horrors, and I had never met our family members who perished in the fighting. Our parents had spoken of them with obvious fondness, and Edric had always been the most moved by the stories.

"The Empire repaid their sacrifice with the White-Gold Concordat, and by driving their family out of their homes twenty-six years later." I remarked bitterly. "I'm not going to go running off to join the Stormcloaks, but I don't think we owe the Empire anything. Besides, it was them or us."

"No it wasn't." Edric corrected. "We could have gone with Hadvar. He might have spared us, or set us free. He seemed to be a good man."

"And what would Hadvar's comrades, or that whore captain of his, have done? Execute us? Put us in chains? Leave us behind?" I questioned. "I wish we didn't have to kill them, but the fact is, we did. May they find whatever afterlife they seek."

Edric remained silent.

* * *

We reached the city perhaps two or three hours before sunset. I couldn't help but note with disapproval how the most of the walls had partially crumbled in some way, which suggested centuries of neglect.

"How could they allow the walls to fall to this point?" I asked as we passed through the first wall, which didn't have a gate.

Edric shrugged. "Maybe they didn't need to? Until now, Skyrim had been at peace for centuries."

Still, I couldn't help but get the impression that the security in Whiterun was terrible. Shameful, is what it was.

At least they had a drawbridge. That was something. We crossed over it, and made our way the gate shortly behind it, when we were stopped short.

"Halt!" One of the guards commanded, stepping forward. "City's closed with dragons about. Official business only."

"Riverwood calls for the Jarl's aid." I declared. How barring people from entering the city was meant to protect it from dragons was completely beyond me. At least the rumours had already reached Whiterun, so I would not sound completely insane.

"Riverwood's in danger too?" The guard asked in a concerned voice. "You'd best go in, then. You will find the Jarl in Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill." He turned around. "Open the gate!"

After a few moments, the gate swung open, and we stepped inside.

* * *

Cities stank. Having grown up and lived in one. So many animals and people living so close together... it was bound to generate some sort of odour. It was a sharp contrast to the week or so spent in the country. Thankfully, I had grown up in a city, so I adjusted to it quickly enough.

We stepped into the city, and the first thing we noticed were the buildings - well-constructed, despite the sorry state of the walls. The second thing we noticed were the people. A man in Imperial armour appeared to be negotiating with a blacksmith - I heard her mention a man 'Eorlund Gray-Mane', which sounded vaguely familiar. Our father was always going on about his work.

The man all but laughed in her face. "Ha, I'd sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak."

Was he an Imperial Soldier? Was he from Helgen? Gerdur had assured me none of them would come this way. I decided to walk by them as if nothing was out of the ordinary. But then, without warning, the man turned around to face me.

"You there, I haven't seen you before. Gray-Mane, or Battle-Born?"

"What?" Edric and I asked simultaneously.

"You got stones in your ears? Gray-Mane, or Battle-Born?"

I looked to the blacksmith for assistance, but she had already gone back to her work. "I don't know what you're asking." I said at last.

"New in town, then." He realized. "Whiterun has two influential clans, both old and both respected. Difference is, the Gray-Manes turned their back on the Empire, while we Battle-Borns have stayed loyal. So I ask again: Gray-Mane, or Battle-Born?"

"I'm not choosing a side." I told him honestly. Involving myself in a family feud within an unfamiliar city was almost as stupid as involving myself in a civil war within an unfamiliar country.

"Sooner or later, we all have to choose a side." He warned, and then walked away, leaving us to ruminate on his words.

* * *

Though we were unfamiliar with the city's layout, it was obvious that if we just kept going up we would reach the castle eventually. We passed through the market, and merchants loudly advertised their wares, but we ignored them and continued upward. We also heard idle conversation, but it was mostly mundane subjects. There were only a few mentions of dragons or the civil war. I found my gaze drawn to a rather attractive redhead who was haggling with one of the traders, but I soon looked away. Nothing would come of it; we weren't going to be in this city for long.

We stopped only momentarily in the Wind District, when we saw and heard a priest screeching about Talos, and had to do a double-take, staring at him with dumbfounded expressions.

We had been chased out of Bruma under the mere suspicion of being Talos worshippers. Our father was one, but he had always done an excellent job keeping it secret. The rest of the family had not shared his faith. Yet it had been enough to make all five of us targets.

Then there was this priest, standing directly in shrine dedicated to Talos, loudly preaching his faith for all to hear. No one batted an eye or attempting to stop him. Even if Whiterun was neutral in the Civil War, surely the Thalmor would have found some way to at least eliminate him, or pressure the Jarl into taking action?

But then I worked it out. He must be a Thalmor spy, or at the very least someone the Thalmor were aware of, but grudgingly tolerated. They must be waiting to see who was paying attention to his words, or who was asking him questions. Lulling people into a false sense of security so they would be more open with their own worship of Talos. Little things which would give the Thalmor an excuse to round up as many people as possible when they were ready. It seemed obvious to me.

So, I pulled Edric along, and we continued up the long set of stairs to Dragonsreach. On the way, he passed a redguard wearing fine red clothes. "Do you get the Cloud District very often?" He asked us, in a tone filled with self-importance. Then he noticed our attire. "Oh, what am I saying? Of course you don't." And with that he continued his descent. We stared at him for a few moments, before moving along.

Like Bruma, this city had no shortage of rude or unusual people, it would seem.

* * *

The Jarl's hall at Dragonsreach was as vast and impressive on the inside as it was on the outside. The guards had allowed us in after I surrendered my weapons and explained to them why I was there. One of them announced us to the Jarl's assembled court. "Messengers from Riverwood!" He called out.

The Jarl, a blond man in his mid-thirties who appeared to be in the midst of a discussion with his steward, fell silent. An armored Dark Elf stood at the Jarl's side, eying us warily. Some sort of bodyguard, I assumed.

"I trust this is important, then? Important enough to interrupt the Jarl in middle of counsel?" Balgruuf questioned, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded grimly. "I have news from Helgen. The rumours are true. A dragon destroyed the town, and last I saw it was heading this way. Riverwood may be in danger."

"And are you sure this was a dragon? Not some... Stormcloak raid gone wrong?" The Jarl asked skeptically.

Edric nodded with surprising vehemance. "The only Stormcloaks there were imprisoned. The Imperials were about to execute Ulfric, and that's when the dragon attacked.

Balgruuf sighed. "I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this..." Then he turned to his steward. "And what do you say now, Proventus. Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?

The Dunmer spoke up. "My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger. If that dragon is lurking in the mountains..."

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!" Proventus protested. "He will assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. We should not..."

"Enough!" The Jarl shouted. Proventus paled and fell silent. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" He turned to the Dark Elf. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once." Irileth nodded, and then hurried out of the hall.

"If you will excuse me, I will return to my duties." Proventus said, somewhat nervously.

"That would be best." The Jarl turned to face us. "You two. What are your names?" He asked us.

"Ivar."

"Edric."

"Well done, Ivar and Edric, you sought me out on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it." That wasn't entirely true. We hadn't actually sought him out on our own initiative - someone else had told us to do so. But neither of us saw fit to correct him.

The Jarl continued speaking. "You will be paid for your service. In the meantime, there is something else you can do for me. Something suited to your... particular talents, perhaps?"

I nodded with trepidation. I had no desire to be sidetracked any further, not when there was still the matter of locating Beric. But it would not hurt to hear him out, and it might earn his ire if I did not.

"Come then. Let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into matters related to these 'dragons'..." Balgruuf said, and with that he rose from his throne and led us towards his Court Wizard's study.

* * *

"So, the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?" Farengar asked, looking solely at Edric and barely even acknowledging my existence, evidently having more respect for a fellow mage. I noticed that his eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles underneath, and I wondered how long it had been since he slept. "Yes," he mused, "I could use someone to fetch something for me." There was a pause, before he added, "Well, when I say fetch, I mean I need you to delve into an ancient ruin in search of a stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

His voice was completely and utterly devoid of emotion. It was off-putting.

"What does this have to do with the dragons returning?" Edric asked.

"Ah, not a mere brute, but a thinker." Farengar commented. "Perhaps even a scholar?"

Edric shrugged, and soon of the two of them were chatting like old friends, discussing what they knew about the dragons and the Ancient Nords. Farengar knew more, of course, but Edric still knew enough to offer his own input. I tried to follow the conversation, listening to them go about how the dragons ruled Skyrim through the Dragon Cult, and how the Nords used a power known as the Voice to cast them down, but little was known beyond that. Farengar spoke at length about Ancient Nordic burial customs.

Some of it was helpful, but most was of no practical use, and eventually it began to grow dull. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but we couldn't just stand around discussing old history. I cleared my throat, loudly.

"Apologies, but could you tell your mercenary not to interrupt us?" Farengar asked my brother.

My eyes narrowed, and I was about to issue a hot retort, but Edric responded before I did it. "He's not a mercenary, he's my brother." Edric explained, his friendly tone fading. "And he's right, it would be best if we got moving. Farewell."

"One more thing," Farengar added, "could you take these frost salts to Arcadia at her shop? Arcadia's Cauldron. It's next to the Bannered Mare Inn. She will likely provide you some sort of compensation."

Well, that was convenient. Considering how it was getting late, we would need to go to the Inn anyways. "I will deliver them." Edric promised.

And with that, we turned to leave, only to find that a servant was waiting for us in the doorway. He handed me a rather generous pouch of gold. "Here is the reward the Jarl has promised you." He explained, before excusing himself. It seemed the Jarl paid well. No doubt the reward for the Dragonstone would be even greater.

* * *

We left the Keep in an upbeat mood. "So," Edric began, "we deliver the Frost Salts, collect another reward, find a room at the Inn, and then head back to Riverwood in the morning?"

I shook my head. "Better to stay for a full day, and then depart the next morning. We've been traveling too long, and could do with some rest. We also need more gear and better equipment. We have nothing for an overnight trip."

"What about Beric?" Edric asked.

"If Beric is alive, and if he is in Riverwood already, an extra day won't kill him." I suggested. "I want to find him as much as you do, but if we're going to be running back and forth between towns, we need to better equip ourselves. Now, let's deliver your salts, and then find something to eat."


	5. Chapter Four: A Day in The City

**Author's Note: This chapter is going to be told from Edric's perspective. Also, no advancements in the main questline are going to happen in this one. It mainly serves to further establish Ivar and Edric's characters, and also hint at some of the future subplots I have in mind for them.**

 **Also, it's the longest chapter yet. So strap yourselves in if you're still reading.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four: A Day in The City  
**

It had been a straightforward process. We delivered the Frost Salts to Arcadia, and she rewarded us with potions; Stamina, Invisibility, and Illusion. To me those seemed more valuable than coin, and would likely be useful to us one day. Ivar appeared to be in agreement.

After that, we went straight to the Inn. Ivar insisted that we take separate rooms, though I did not understand why. At least we had the coin to spare. Our evening meal had been a portion of beef and a slice of bread, with some ale to wash it down. Afterward, I retired to my room to study my spell tome.

I do not know how long I spent up there. I ignored the idle conversaton and clinking of tankards from downstairs, and was enthralled entirely by the tome. There was some sort of unnatural magic to these things; the words weren't just words. Through the mere act of reading them, the knowledge somehow became engraved into my mind, and I did not think I would ever forget it. Yet with each page I turned, the book's condition also appeared to be worsening, despite the fact that I had taken utmost care of it. I knew it would be unreadable by the time I was finished. My mentor had told me of these tomes; they were the quickest way to learn a spell, but also the most expensive.

Cheering from downstairs snapped me out of my focus. Curious, I closed the tome and wandered downstairs.

A crowd had assembled around the corner of the tavern, though I could not see what they were observing. "What's happening?" I asked the Innkeeper.

"That friend of yours is taking on Uthgerd the Unbroken. If you ask me, I think he had a bit too much to drink." She explained, cleaning the glass.

I shook my head. When Ivar drank enough alcohol, he became a completely different person. "Are you going to do anything about it?" I asked, concerned.

"Why would I?" She asked. "Brawls aren't illegal if both fighters agree to it, and besides, it entertains the patrons. So long as it doesn't spread to the rest of the tavern, I don't see the harm."

With a feeling of trepidation, I nudged my way to the front of the crowd, and witnessed Ivar facing down one of the strongest women I had ever seen, who I could only assume was Uthgerd. She had auburn hair, a rough-looking face, and was clearly a powerful warrior. Uthgerd's nose was already bloody, and Ivar had a nasty mark on his face which would surely lead to a bruise.

Shouting out a battlecry, Uthgerd threw her fist forward. Ivar somehow managed to catch her punch mid-swing, before retaliating with a counter-attack of his own. Uthgerd moved her head to the side quickly enough, so the punch only served to graze her ear. She shoved him away to disentangle herself from him, and he stumbled backwards into the crowd, who quickly pushed him back into the fray.

Uthgerd's fist came up to meet him, and he was knocked backward to the ground. Uthgerd smiled triumphantly, but then, blood streaming from his nose, my brother leapt to his feet with surprsing speed, and lashed out with several rapid blows. The unexpected assault pushed her onto the defensive. She managed to block or dodge the first few, but then one got through, catching her by surprise, which made her vulnerable to the ones that came afterward.

Soon she was backed against the wall. Ivar launched another punch, but Uthgerd managed to duck underneath it. His bare fist slammed into the wall, and he growled in pain. Uthgerd then grabbed him by the waist and tackled him to the ground.

Straddling him, a berserk fury seemed to come over her as she rained blow after blow down upon his face, and Ivar could barely fend them off. As she brought her arm back for another punch, Ivar took advantage of the shift in weight and rolled, throwing her off of him and allowing him to end up on top of her. He crawled forward, placing his knees on top of her shoulders and pinning her wrists with his hands. The sudden reversal of their positions seemed to snap her out of her rage, but she still resisted.

They struggled like that for a time, the crowd watching in shocked silence, before finally she gave up. "That's what I call a fight, you got me." She gasped, and Ivar was breathing just as heavily. Many in the crowd cheering and applauded.

Ivar and Uthgerd rose to their feet, both bloody and bruised. I realized he would probably expect me to take care of that. "I think I earned that gold." He breathed.

"You're no liar," came Uthgerd's equally weary response. "Best fight I had in years." I noticed a pile of coins on a nearby table - a wager? Based on the amount that was there, it seemed my brother had wagered a great deal.

By now, the rest of the tavern had returned to their seats. Ivar staggered towards me, and I noticed he was missing a tooth. One of his eyes was already starting to swell shut. "What were you thinking?" I demanded.

"She was boasting about her skills in a fistfight. I said I was better. She then wagered a hundred gold that she could beat me. It seemed like a good way to make money, so I accepted." Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he spoke.

Frowning, I raised a hand over his face and cast a healing spell on him, slowly mending the damage to his face. After half a minute, he looked as good as new, though there was nothing I could do for the tooth, and he was still exhausted from the events of the fight itself. His knuckles were swollen and bruised, so I healed those as well. "I need to rest." He gasped, and then after giving me a share of the money he had won, he stumbled up to his room.

With nothing else to do, I retreated to my own room.

* * *

The next morning, I sat in the ground floor of the Bannered Mare eating my breakfast - a fried egg, a slice of buttered bread, and a cup of milk. Ivar stumbled downstairs, rubbing his head - no doubt he had some sort of headache. Alcohol was never good to him. He ordered his own food, and then sat down at my table.

"Did you know that 'milk-drinker' is an insult up here?" Ivar asked me.

"Milk is an essential part of the diet." I pointed out, somewhat perplexed, and suddenly feeling subconscious of all the other people in the room. Was I being judged for my choice of beverage?

Ivar nodded. "It's not that they don't drink milk. 'Milk-drinker' just means you only drink milk, because you can't handle alcohol. Could also mean that your mother never stopped breastfeeding you."

Of course. Even in Bruma, people who couldn't drink alcohol were looked down upon. Everyone knew Nords were fond of their drink, particularly mead. I took another sip of my milk. "So what's the plan for today?"

"I'll stop by an armourer, to get my armour refitted, or pick up some additional protection. I'll also see the blacksmith to get my sword sharpened."

"I'll find some camping equipment." I offered. As a mage, I needed no armor or weapons, and though I might be able to find someone who sold spell-tomes, they would be far too expensive for us, and the spells contained within would likely be rather basic anyway.

* * *

With that, we parted ways. Finding a store that sold travelling supplies wasn't too difficult - Belethor's General Store was just across the market from the Bannered Mare. The owner welcomed me in with enthusiasm, though I could detect the greed in his voice. Nonetheless, he did have what I was looking for; I purchased two bedrolls, some portable cookware, some fur cloaks to provide additional warmth, and a larger travelling pack. It ended up costing me most of my gold, but it would be worth it in the long run, I supposed.

I stepped outside of the shop, my new pack slung over my back, with my freshly purchased goods inside.

"Well met Kinsmen, what brings you here to Whiterun?"

I turned, and saw that the speaker was a blond-haired man leaning up against a post, clad in iron armour. I hesitated a second, before answering him. "My brother and I are just passing through."

He nodded, as if that was the answer he was expecting. "If you need a drink, or a place to sleep, head to the Bannered Mare. But mind the bard Mikael, poncy little milk-drinker that one."

"You don't like Mikael?" I asked. I had briefly heard him sing last night while eating my food. He wasn't too bad.

"We Nords have a proud history Warrior Poets, and I am proud to count myself among them. But Mikael... he sings only for gold and the affection of wenches. He dishonours our traditions." The man explained. "Sorry, I didn't introduce myself. Jon Battle-Born." He extended a hand.

"Edric Night-Flame." I took his hand and shook. "No, it's not a clan name, it was given to me."

Jon nodded in approval. "It's good to have a name that you earned and didn't inherit." I decided not to mention that I had 'earned' it by accidentally setting a tree on fire in the middle of the night.

"My brother and I met one of your kinsmen at the gate. He wore Imperial Armor, and the first thing he asked us was which Clan we preferred."

"Hmph, that sounds like Idolaf." Jon grumbled. "Best you avoid him, and this entire feud as well. The Civil War, too. You know what's wrong with Skyrim these days? Everyone is obsessed with death. Too focused on dying for a cause, or killing for it. I love a good sword fight as much as the next man, but there are finer things in life."

I nodded. That was a sentiment I could agree with. With little else to say, I said my farewells and took my leave of him.

* * *

I did a quick survey of the market, and spotted a stall which sold farm produce. It was manned by a rather attractive looking woman and what appeared to be her daughter. I stepped forward, and examined the produce that was on display. Eventually I settled on an apple, and handed over the necessary coin to purchase it. As I walked away, I heard her speak.

"Remarkable, you're the first man in this city who didn't try to flirt with me when he first met me." She said.

I turned around. What an odd thing to say. "You get a lot of attention from men?" I asked her.

She nodded glumly. "Yes, at least half the men in town have tried to make a move on me." She explained. "I tell them I'm not interested, but that just makes them try harder. That Bard Mikael is the worst, though. He won't give up, and I've heard him boasting at the Bannered Mare that he will 'conquer me as a True Nord conquers any beast.' Hmph."

That was the second mention of Mikael, and once again he was not depicted in a positive light. He was beginning to sound like a problem. "What if I talk to Mikael?" I asked her, partly out of a desire to see this supposed Scourge of the Bannered Mare for myself.

"If you want to try, go right ahead. I don't think anything will get through that thick skull of his, though."

* * *

"If it's a lady you're looking for, you best look elsewhere. Once Mikael gets them, they're got."

By the Eight, that was the first thing he said to me. Now I could already understand why Carlotta and Jon loathed him. "You need to leave Carlotta alone." I told him firmly.

His expression darkened. "Carlotta put you up to this, didn't she?" he demanded. "That fiery widow is mine; she just doesn't know it yet."

"She's not interested." I reasoned. "Leave her alone, and chase someone who is more receptive."

"What was that? All I heard was the sound of jealously." He taunted.

I frowned. Carlotta was right. He was indeed thick-skulled. Then another idea occurred to me. "You were watching that fight, last night." I remembered.

"What of it?" He asked.

"You do know that the man who won that fight was my brother, Ivar?" I asked. As childish as it was to mention my stronger older brother as an arguing point, it would be downright foolish to try to intimidate him myself, and there's no way I could fight him without resorting to magic. "He's not fond of your music, and he's itching for another fight. If he finds out you're harrassing people, that might give him just the justification he needs."

He glared at me, before finally relenting. "It's pathetic to hide behind your brother. But fine, you win. On my honour, I will never bother Carlotta again."

* * *

"Really?" Carloota blinked, surprised. "You convinced that lute player to stop chasing me?"

I nodded. "He said he would stop, at least."

"Well... I'd thank the gods, but I'll settle for thanking you. Here's some coin for your help." And with that, she handed me a few coins. The work of an adventurer was beginning to seem somewhat lucrative, if highly unpredictable.

* * *

Unable to think of anything else we needed, I decided to explore the city. On the way, I passed that pompous-looking Redguard from before, who sneered at me imperiously. Though Ivar had complained about the sad state of its walls, Whiterun had a lovely atmosphere to it. And from the sounds of things, before the war it had been a bustling trading center.

My walk took me back to the city's front gate, and I looked towards the blacksmith to see an unexpected sight. There, sitting at the grindstone and sharpening his sword, was Ivar.

"Ivar." I greeted him.

He stopped sharpening and turned to face me. "Edric," he said, "I'm just sharpening this blade. The blacksmith was kind enough to let me use the grindstone." He explained.

That made sense. Our father had been a blacksmith himself, and as a result, we had all picked up some knowledge regarding the trade, due to our time spent helping him in the forge. Beric, however, had decided he would rather follow in our mother's footsteps and become a hunter. Our father was fine with that; he had two other sons who could take on his trade, and Ivar had already been more interested in weapons. Unfortunately, it turned out his interest had more to do with wielding them than making them, and so he joined the city guard the first chance he received. That left me... but I discovered my magic only a few weeks later, and pursuing that study was more important taking up the trade of a blacksmith.

In the end our father was disappointed, but he had to accept that his sons had become their own men, and had chosen the paths best suited for them. I had great potential as a mage, Ivar proved to be one of the best fighters in the city, and Beric was an excellent hunter... though we suspected he had also taken on a significantly less legal occupation as well.

Ivar made idle conversation while he worked away. Soon enough, he was done, and admired his handiwork with a satisfied smile. "Bandits don't take the best care of their weapons," he explained as he returned the blade to its sheathe. "But I've put this one back into good shape. The axe, as well."

"You have talent." A female voice spoke up. We turned to see that blacksmith herself. "From what you told me, it sounds like you could have been a fine smith. Why did you become a sellsword?"

"And it sounds like you could have been a steward," Ivar countered. "Why did you become a blacksmith?"

What did that mean? She must have noticed my confused expression. "You think all the counsel my father provides the Jarl is his alone? Let's just say that I advise the advisor, and leave it at that."

"This is Adrianna Avennici. Her father is the steward." Ivar told me. He nodded towards her. "Thank you allowing me to use your equipment." He looked back to me. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

Based on the sun's position, it was past noon, though there was still plenty of time left in the day. Our main priorities had been dealt with, but alas there was not enough time to return to Riverwood without being stuck out overnight, and Ivar had seemed intent on spending the full day here. So we remained in the city.

We walked back toward the market, and stopped at the Bannered Mare to eat a lunch of bread and cheese.

It was then that an idea occurred to me. "It's well known that Whiterun is home to Jorrvaskr, the Mead Hall of the Companions." I recalled.

Ivar nodded. "And? You aren't the warrior type." He stated bluntly.

"No," I agreed, "but it's roof is made out of Ysgramor's longship. It's the boat that brought some of the original Five Hundred Companions to Skyrim in the first place. A sight worth seeing, isn't it?"

"I suppose." Ivar agreed. "We've nothing else to do. Let's go."

* * *

So, we made our way up to Wind District, and from there up to Jorrvaskr. There were only two things in the city which rested on a higher elevation - the Skyforge, and Dragonsreach itself. That alone spoke to the organization's importance.

The boat was... surprisingly underwhelming. It was finely carved, and the edges were adorned with shields, but there were a few holes in it. I felt no sense of awe. At the end of the day, it was just an old roof that had aged well, but still aged nonetheless.

We stepped inside to the warm interior - a large fire roared in the center, surrounded by well-made tables with the remnants of a hearty meal. We were immediately greeted by the sound of a brawl. A Nord woman fought with a red-haired Dunmer, and both had the look of warriors. Around them, other fighters stood in observence, cheering on one or or the other. We watched for a few moments; both were giving it their all, the Dunmer relying more on speed and agility, while the Nordic women relied on strength and used more direct attacks.

I looked up. The roof was just as unimpressive on the inside as it was on the outside. Strange. For some reason I had thought such a historically important boat to be more... inspiring? But in the end, it was just a boat. To be expected, I supposed.

By the time I had looked down, the fight had concluded, the Nordic woman the victor. Cheers were issued, and two strong-looking men pulled the Dunmer to his feet, and helped him to a nearby chair. A servant poured him a mug of ale. I had to admit myself surprised to see a Dunmer's inclusion in this ancient group; Nords were one of the less tolerant races of Tamriel, and it seemed odd that an Elf would join a group that was historically known for... well, killing Elves.

Meanwhile, coin was being exchanged between the other members. I suppose they had placed wagers. Suddenly, I coughed, and everyone glanced up at me.

"We've uh... we came to the city and decided to see Jorrvaskr for ourselves." I said.

"This is no place for mages." The Nordic woman who won the fight glared, spitting out a tooth. One of the servants frowned. No doubt they would have to clean it up.

"Don't be rude, Njada." The Dark-Elf spoke up, wincing in pain as he did so. "He had the courage to come in here, at least. And just because we don't let mages join doesn't mean we should ban their very presence."

The Elf's words were met with glares from most of his fellow Companions.

"Look," my brother stepped forward, pointing at the roof, "that boat is important to our people's history. My brother wanted to see it. Would you deny us that?" He glared at the woman.

"Are you even from Skyrim?" She challenged, evidently making note of his accent.

"Hold a minute..." One of the companions, a blond man with a long, thick beard, spoke up. He pointed to Ivar. "I saw this man at the Bannered Mare last night. He bested Uthgerd the Unbroken in a fight."

"You did?" One of the other Companions asked, noticeably surprised. Then, he smiled. "Good. She butchered my Shield Brother in cold blood."

Another Companion frowned. "That isn't what happened," she spoke with an Imperial accent. "They were sparring, and her temper got the better of her."

"You saw the madness in her eyes, Ria!" The other Companion protested.

"And afterward I saw regret, and guilt." Ria pointed out. "She didn't mean to do it."

"But she still did it, and we let her walk out without punishment!"

Then another man intervened. His head was shaved bald, and one of his eyes was a milky white. "We underestimated her, put her against someone who didn't stand a chance, and allowed them to sparr with live steel. Many warriors enter a rage to cope with battle, and even the most experienced can forget to turn it off. These things happen. In the end we denied her entry, and that's punishment enough, given the circumstance."

The other Companion said nothing. Instead, he simply rose to his feet and walked out.

Another woman stepped forward, this one in surprisingly revealing armour, with a bow and quiver at her back. "For all her faults, Uthgerd is a ferocious warrior. The fact that you brought her down is impressive. You might make for a decent shield-brother."

Ivar shook his head. "We have more pressing matters to attend to," He told her. The woman frowned.

The blond bearded man rose to his feet, and raised a mug into the air. "To the Defeater of Uthgerd!" He toasted. A few others raised their cups, including a rather large man with dark hair and even darker eye shadow, sitting next to someone who looked almost identical. Twins?

Either way, we did not stay to join them for their drink, and instead exiting the building. I could not say I was sad to leave.

* * *

We had almost made it back to the Bannered Mare, when someone stopped us in the market. "Pardon me," she said, positioning herself in front of Ivar. "But I heard that you two were travellers, or mercenaries."

Our eyebrows raised. Were our exploits already starting to become known? "What makes you say that?" Ivar questioned.

"I heard you two were seen entering Dragonsreach the day you arrived in town. I saw you beat Uthgerd. Carlotta told me your brother intimidated someone who had been bothering her." Ivar blinked in surprise at that, perhaps understandably, because intimidating was one of the last words he would use to describe me. Ysolda continued on, seeming oblivious. "...and I saw you enter the Companions Mead Hall. It seems to me that you're looking for work." She deduced.

Ivar nodded, and his gaze appeared to briefly wander up in down her form as he did so, but perhaps it was just my imagination. "We've found work. I take it you had something in mind for us, though?" He asked her.

She nodded. "I'm looking for someone who can find me a Mammoth's Tusk."

"Why do you need that?" I questioned. I was not aware of any potions which required such an ingredient.

"I'm trying to become a trader." She explained. "I buy items low, and I sell them high. The leader of one of the Khajiit caravans offered to teach me more, if I could find him a Mammoth's Tusk."

It was an odd request, but a perhaps a sensible one, in that context. A Mammoth's Tusk would be hard to find, and not an item that could be acquired easily. She would either need to locate a merchant who sold it, or pay a bold enough hunter to go acquire one for her. Both of which required sufficient wealth and negotiating skills. "I was hoping you could find me one." She continued.

Ivar stroked his chin. "As I said, we've already found work." He said to her, and a look of disappointment crossed her face. "But," he continued, "if we somehow do come across a tusk in our travels, I will bring it to you." He assured her.

She smiled. "Thank you." She said happily.

I looked at Ivar strangely. Ever since we had come to Skyrim, everytime someone asked him to perform a task which distracted him from his goal of finding Beric, he had been far from pleased. But here, he had just offered to do something while requiring no additional persuasion, before any sort of reward had been discussed.

Could he be...?

I recalled hearing at least one women in his life. There might have been more, but she was the only one I could recall. I had never cared to learn much about her, as I was never interested in that sort of thing; I had always been too focused on my own studies to truly care about what was going on with my brothers' personal lives. But as I recall, it had not ended well, and I did not recall him seeing anyone since. Why was this woman different?

I decided not to say anything. His business was his own. He noticed me looking at him strangely, of course, and responded with a perplexed look of his own, but neither of us spoke, and eventually we went back into the Bannered Mare. I needed to continue studying that tome, anyway.


	6. Chapter Five: Bleak Falls Barrow

**Author's Note: Alright, we're back to Ivar's perspective.**

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Bleak Falls Barrow**

No further incidents had occurred during our stay in Whiterun. Edric retired to his room to continue studying that tome of his, while I took a brief trip down to the stables as I considered the possibility of buying a horse. I soon learned that was not to be; they were expensive, and even one was beyond what we could afford.

In order to pass the time, I had continued my explanation of the city, contemplating the day's events. We had to delve into a ruin to find a tablet. We had to locate our brother. If we found a mammoth's tusk, we had to give it to Ysolda. The latter was not so important; I had made it clear I was facing more pressing matters, and made no concrete promises. I wasn't even sure why I had agreed. There was something about her that I found attractive, yet I had never such things influence my course in life before. At least, not after...

I remembered my first lover; a woman who I had been almost obsessed with, one who I had even considered marrying. But then... well, it turned out she had not loved me nearly as much as I loved her. It was Beric who shattered my illusion, and though I initially loathed him for it, I had eventually came to realize I owed him a great debt.

Ysolda vaguely resembled her, I recalled. Was that why I was so attracted to her? No matter; it wasn't like anything would come out of pursuing her. She had approached us with a task, and we promised to complete that task if possible. Whether she paid us for it or not, in the end we would go our separate ways and likely forget about each other. There were countless poems and songs of Nord Warriors wooing maidens with trophies from the great beasts they had slain, but this was neither poem nor song.

Eventually evening came, and I retired to bed early, drifting off asleep.

* * *

We set off early next morning, the sun still partly concealed by the distant horizon across Whiterun's vast fields. Farmers worked away at planting their crops, and other travellers had begun to file out of the city as well, heading off to their own destinations.

Unlike last time, nobody attacked us on the road, and we made it back to Riverwood without incident, and still had a few hours to spare.

From the outside, the village appeared to be completely unchanged, save for the guard that now stood atop the wall. "Who goes there!?" He shouted down at us, his face concealed by that eerie helmet the rest of Whiterun's guards had worn.

I stepped forward. "Ivar, and Edric," I called out. "We're here on the Jarl's business."

"And what proof do you have of that?" He demanded.

"None!" I responded. "We didn't expect to be denied entry to the village."

"Hold!" A woman's voice called out. It was Gerdur. Though Riverwood had walls, it had no gates, so she was plainly visible before us.

The guard turned his head. "For the last time, these measures are meant to keep you people safe!"

"I know these people, you oaf." She told him. "They were the ones who asked the Jarl to send you."

"Oh," the guard said, surprised. "Come on in, then."

Gerdur stepped forward to meet us. "Thank you for delivering our warning," she smiled. "Riverwood is in your debt."

"Was our brother here?" I asked her.

"Not that I know of," she shook her head. "I need to get back to my work, but if you're more than welcome to stay at my house again if you need it." And with that she turned away.

"The night before our arrival, some thieves broke into the local shop," the guard explained, as he climbed down from the wall to greet us. "We're watching all entrances to the village in case they make another attempt."

"Do you expect them to?" I asked.

The guard shook his head. "No. They only took one thing. Some prized artifact the shopkeeper had on display. They could have grabbed more if they wanted, but they didn't, so it must have been the only thing they were after," he explained. "But if they do come back, one guard on a wall is worth ten brigands on the ground."

It was no boast. Although Riverwood's defenses would not be repelling any professional armies, if adequately manned they were more than enough to see off any band of barely organized cutthroats. "How many of them are there?" Edric asked.

"We don't know," the guard admitted. "About four or five of them were seen running off to the north, but there could be more of them. We think they're camped out in the Barrow, but there's only six of us, and we were ordered to protect the townspeople above all else."

I nodded in understanding. There was nothing they could do that didn't mean abandoning their orders, or spreading themselves too thin to be of use. "The Jarl's Court Wizard wants us to retrieve something from up there," I told him. "We'll take care of your bandit problem, too."

I could sense the guard's skepticism even beneath his helmet. "You can try," he said at last. "But it's not just bandits up there; those ruins are filled with Draugr. They can't die."

I recalled Farengar and Edric mentioning the Draugr, and I also remembered hearing about them in stories my mother told me as a boy. It is said that they sided with the dragon priests, and were cursed to guard their masters' tombs and temples in death as they had in life. It was also said that they crept down into the countryside at night to steal children, and that anyone they caught trespassing in their tomb would be captured and transformed into a Draugr themself. Who knew how much of that was true?

"They can't die," Edric agreed, "but that's only because they're already dead. They can still be defeated, like any other summoned creature. Hit them enough, or in the right place, and you will destroy whatever magic is keeping their soul trapped within."

"If you say so, mage," the guard said. "Another thing: some fool decided he would head up there only an hour or two ago. Thought he could take on the bandits himself. If he hasn't made it to Sovngarde yet, he might be useful."

* * *

With the knowledge that someone else had gone off to Bleak Falls before us, there was no sense in wasting time. Whoever this stranger was, there was a chance that they might run off with our tablet, or get themselves killed, and it would be best if we were there to prevent both. So, we made a quick meal out of our provisions, ate it outside the gate, and then set off at a brisk pace. We crossed the bridge yet again, but this time we made a left, where the path winded up towards the mountain.

It was not long before the path gave way to ice and snow, still in the process of melting due to the recently-arrived Spring, and the snow had footprints. That would make our quarry easy enough to track down.

After perhaps half an hour of half-jogging, half-speedwalking, we came across a large, sloped expanse, with a tower in the distance that was accessible via a bridge.

Taking cover behind a nearby walk, we examined the tower from afar, but saw no sign of any inhabitants. Stepping out from behind the rock, we advanced towards the tower cautiously.

It was only when we got closer that we noticed the bodies. "By the Eight," I heard Edric say, and we rushed forward.

The first body was a woman bundled up in fur, lying beneath a nearby tree. There was a spot of blood on her chest, indicating that she been killed by a piercing weapon. Her weapon was sheathed, indicating she had not seen her death coming. In the doorway of the tower itself, a man lay in heavy iron armour, a pool of dried blood beneath his head - the result of a puncture wound on his neck, which looked as if it had been created by an arrow. The arrow had been removed, of course, likely out of a desire to conserve ammunition. A sword lay on the ground next to him.

To me, it was obvious what had happened. She was shot from afar. Her partner came down to investigate, and he was shot as he stepped outside.

"This must be the work of our mysterious stranger," I noted. Edric nodded. Who else could it be?

The bodies had nothing of value on them, and neither the tower. Whoever had killed them had likely taken all their valuables. What we did find were two bedrolls, and a barrel with various provisions. The bandits were likely using this tower as an outpost, to keep watch for any adventurer or soldier types heading up the mountain. Based on how they had been killed so easily, they were not very good at their job. Still, the fact that they could maintain an independent outpost suggested they had much larger numbers back at their own camp.

* * *

The footprints continued onward, so we followed them up the slope. The temperature seemed to drop the higher we ascended, so we pulled our fur cloaks around ourselves for warmth.

After another half-hour moving at the same quick pace, the Barrow itself came to view. A series of raised platforms connected by stairs, leading up to the side of the mountain. Pillars and arches rose high into the sky, which we had seen during our walk from Helgen to Riverwood.

Edric had a wide smile on his face. "These tombs have stood for thousands of years," he marvelled. "Look, you can tell that the stone has aged, but there's barely any sign that it has been crumbling. The Ancient Nords were wonderful builders."

"Whoever built Whiterun's walls could have learned a thing or two from them, then." I groused, and Edric chuckled. "Now keep your guard up," I reminded him. "There are still bandits about."

We found another body before we had even ascended the staircase. This one was a Khajiit, lying face down on a patch of hard, blood-stained snow, his weapon still in its sheathe. I rolled him over. His face was a bloody ruin, his neck twisted at an unusual angle, and half an arrow was lodged in his gut. The half with the feather lay on the ground next to him.

"He was standing up there," I said, pointing up at the ledge. "Someone shot him with an arrow, and he fell face first. The arrow snapped off against the ground, and he broke his skull and neck."

Edric nodded slightly, seeming to agree with my assessment. We advanced cautiously up the stone steps, and up to the first platform. To our left was another fur-clad body, also face down, the snow beneath her stained with blood. I flipped her over as well - there was a wide gash across her throat. "She noticed her friend's absence, and thought something was wrong. She went to look around, but this stranger got the drop on her. It's obvious he favours stealth; probably used the pillars and arches as cover."

A quick search of the area revealed no other bodies. At least, no other human bodies. A rather large amount of charred skeever corpses were piled up near the entrance. Of course an old ruin like this would become a skeever nest. "They must have burned them out here to prevent the spread of disease." Edric deduced. I nodded. That much was obvious. There were no tents or bedrolls on the outside, which meant they were sleeping in the Barrow, and having to share it with a bunch of rotting skeever corpses would be unbearable. Only a fool would just leave them where they lay.

There was no sign of the mysterious bandit-slayer. Which meant only one thing: he was already inside.

We stepped up the large door, which was made of intricately crafted metal, and showed no sign of rust. "It shouldn't be in such good condition. How is this possible?" I asked, rubbing a hand along its cold surface.

"Magic?" Edric suggested. "The Nords might not put magic on a pedestal, but they still used it. Alternatively, it could simply be superior craftsmanship, or maybe a rare type of metal."

Whatever it was, it was a way in. I looked to my brother. "Are you ready?" I asked. For all we knew, there could be a dozen bandits waiting on the other side, the bandit-slayer himself, or even more corpses. There was only one way to find out. We pulled the door open, the metal creaking loudly as we did so.

* * *

We stepped into a large, vast chamber. While the outside had stood strong and undamaged, the inside had not been unfortunate. Parts of the interior were already in a state of collapse, with piles of rubble lying here and there. They must have wasted most of their budget on the Barrow's exterior, then. To the right was what appeared to be some sort of table or altar, on a raised platform. "Here's hoping the ceiling doesn't come down on top of us," I said as we stepped into the room.

We immediately noticed a campsite on the far end, next to a passage that led deeper into the Barrow. There were a series of bedrolls surrounding an extinguished campfire. Two of the bedrolls contained corpses, their throats slashed, and their expressions in pure and utter shock.

"Did the opening of the door not alert them?" Edric asked.

"They probably thought it was one of their comrades, and went back to sleep," I concluded. "Six bedrolls, plus the two we found at the tower. Eight in total, unless there's another camp further in. We've found six bodies so far, so most of the work has already been done for us."

Edric nodded. "There's still the Draugr to contend with, and possibly some traps." He looked down at the bandits, an uneasy expression on his face. "Can we trust whoever did this? It takes a special kind of person to do something like... that."

"They're bandits, Edric," I said flatly, "and your own magic is far more brutal than a slit throat."

"I mean, whoever did this has killed six people in cold blood, and most of them didn't see it coming. They're highly dangerous, and ruthless too."

"They won't get the drop on us. We're approaching from behind, and they don't know we're here," I reminded him. "As to whether or not we can trust them... we'll find that out when we meet them." Still, he did have a point; whoever did this probably wasn't overly concerned about making it to Sovngarde.

* * *

With that, we continued deeper into the barrow, heading down the stairs and into a long, winding hallway. I kept my sword and shield drawn, just in case we came across any unexpected danger. We passed multiple large burial urns, a shelf containing a series of ruined books, and a table covered with wraps of linen and a set of curved blades which Edric identified as embalming tools. "You truly do know a lot about these places," I realized.

"My mentor was from Skyrim; he taught me a great deal about Nordic lore, and he once took part in an expedition to one of these places," Edric explained as we walked. "Look, notice how many of the torches and braziers are still lit? That wasn't the bandits; the Nords enchanted them to burn forever. Sometimes the enchantment fades, but the majority still tend to be functioning."

That was indeed impressive; it saved us the trouble of having to bring a torch of our own, and anyone who wanted to make this place a temporary habitat wouldn't have to worry about constantly replacing them.

The hallway continued to take us lower and lower, with sets of stairs appearing every twenty or thirty feet. Sometimes, it branched off, but unfortunately every alternative route had collapsed. Hopefully none of them led to our Dragonstone; we hadn't brought pickaxes, and even if we had there was no way the two of us could excavate this ruin on our own.

Eventually, we came across another body, lying face down. He too was clad in furs, just like many of his other brethren. His throat had been cut as well. He was lying just a few feet away from another set of stairs, this one leading down into another chamber. We could hear the sound of footsteps coming from within.

I nodded to Edric, and the two of us crept down the stairs as slowly and quietly as possible. We winced slightly every time we took a step that turned out to be slightly louder than expected, but that was to be expected; neither of us were experienced in stealth. Finally, we made it down, and noted that the footsteps had halted. Had they heard us?

I stepped through the doorway. I immediately noticed movement in the corner of my left eye, and instinctively slammed my shield into it. The strange figure staggered backwards, the wind knocked out of him. I raised my sword to issue a follow-up attack, but stopped when I took note of his features.

He wore leather armour, not unlike my own, and had a bow and quiver strapped to his back. Though one hand was clutching his ribs where I had struck him, the other hand gripped a curved elven dagger. His long dark hair had been cut short, but there was no mistaking that face, which was staring right back at my own with wide, surprised eyes.

Beric.


End file.
